Tests
by Ms. Maris
Summary: In Malfoy's world, everything was a question, a dare, a threat. He needed that instinct for survival. And Potter, who barged into his life without a care, was definitely ringing all alarm bells. EWE. HPDM, RWHG.


**Title: **Test**  
Rating:** T**  
Genre: **Romance, drama**  
Pairing(s):** Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/ Hermione Weasley.**  
Warning(s):** Nothing.**  
Notes:** Not beta'd, any criticism is welcome.

Things changed in the wizarding world after the war. For one, people were tenser, not as trustful as they used to be. Children were less likely to walk alone, and private education had become, once more, the norm for purebloods. Even though the ministry assured them that nothing would happen – couldn't happen, it was still an unbelievable fact, especially after knowledge of the ministry's manipulation came out.

Harry Potter, proclaimed to be the one and only savior, had decided to lead a life far away from the spotlights. He couldn't quite live in muggle places (not after discovering magic, never again), but he didn't do anything that could net him a place in the Prophet either. The war had been over for three years, yet there was nothing that he felt like doing.

"Any idea what you're going to do?" Ginny asked. His lovely ex-girlfriend twirled a piece of her ginger locks around her finger, twisting and pulling and generally irritating the hell out of him. He shot her a sharp look. The book he had been reading, one with a leather cover, smooth to the touch as butter and with glowing letters on the front – golden, even brighter than a Galleon – lied forgotten on the cherry end table's surface. He wasn't in the mood for studying anymore (Hermione would be proud – he had read at least twenty pages; if only he had been that way back in Hogwarts).

He knew he had to answer her, even if that same answer escaped even him. "I don't know, Gin." A sigh, followed by a pause as he rubbed his neck – Ginny knew that it was a sign of comforting himself. A twinge of guilt filled her briefly, but she knew it had to be asked. Her brother didn't have the courage, the will, to do it, and Hermione, who had been all about lectures before, avoided both of them as much as she could.

"I don't want to be an Auror. I… I just don't know." Harry sunk back in his chair; his whole posture slumped against the firmness of the couch's rest, soft and gentle against his tired frame. Ginny bit her lip, and all he could do was watch as she struggled to find the right words.

"Look," he began, already doubting what he was planning to say. "If you, or Hermione, or any of the other Weasleys – I know they're worrying too, have any suggestions, you can tell me. I promise I won't reject them without looking into them and, if they sound interesting, trying them out."

It was the closest he'd come to accepting their help; Ginny smiled as she heard this. The youngest Weasley stood up, walked over to him, and embraced him as tightly as she could without suffocating him. Harry took a deep breathe, the fragrance of flowers, spicy yet soft, filled his nose and he could only relax against her body. She was wonderful. He hugged back, his arms encircling her small waist, his chin lying on her shoulder, and his lips muttering sweet nothings in her ears. His warmth tickled her sensitive ears, but even though the urge to scratch arose, she paid no mind and let him be.

"I love you, Ginny."

A smile tugged at him as he saw her, and at that moment, nothing could compare. Not the expensive painting of Sirius in the background (still life, even now he couldn't handle seeing his godfather move), not the book he had been reading, elegant as it was, and not the sight of the heirloom Black furniture.

...

Draco spun around, the harsh wind slapping across his already reddened face, a mixture of snow and hale covered his dress robes as he pursued his best friend. The weather was awful, terrible, horrendous, and yet his friend had now declared the urge to clean up the cabin he had bought years ago.

He was twenty-four, for Merlin's sake, why should he follow the every whim of his friends?

"Stop whining, it's not because I can't hear it that you aren't doing it. Malfoy finesse my arse, your face tells it all." Blaise grinned as Draco's frown deepened, dark etches above his eyebrows, made worse by the paleness of his skin and the bright lighting of the outdoors.

In all honesty, Draco had to admit (begrudgingly so), it looked amazing where he was. A wooden cabin, decorated cozily but without falling into clichés, and acres of woods surrounding it, with only snow around them – the nearest other house was miles away, and no visitor could come here.

But when Harry Bloody Potter opened the door and greeted Blaise as if they had known each other for years (which, they actually did, but Draco's rage stood above his rationality), all hell brook loose.

And, without even hesitating a second, Draco's wand was out and aimed at Harry's head, a spell at the tip of tongue.

**AN: **This really is a bit short, but I wasn't quite sure what to add before it became a clutterfuck of padding. I'd appreciate some commentary, especially on what you liked and didn't like. If you can, some constructive criticism would be good, too; I really want to improve my writing and your advice would undoubtedly help me.

As a side note, if there's any other pairing that you really want to see, please tell me. I don't mind adding some, but I wasn't too sure and since this is my first story… Well, yeah ;P.


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